Happy Turkey Day!
by Trust Gavroche
Summary: Enjolras, Combeferre, and Feuilly are hosting Les Amis's annual Thanksgiving feast. Fun times, craziness, and food shall prevail. Hopefully. Courf/Jehan and a tiny bit of E/R, if you tilt your head like this and squint. Modern AU.


**A/N: Happy late Thanksgiving, everyone! I had originally started this story yesterday, on Thanksgiving, but I was rudely forced to go to bed before I could finish it. I believe this is my longest one-shot ever, and although I debated a lot with where to take it, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. My writing skills have also gotten a little rusty. This was inspired by my own Thanksgiving, and so I tried to keep everyone in character but I don't know if I succeeded there. I was also thinking about doing a Black Friday one, as it would be quite the adventure for them. Also, apologies for any spelling or grammar mistakes, as the program I write on doesn't check either, and I sometimes miss some. Anyways, please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables or its characters, Kirk Franklin or his songs, Covergirl, Apple, or any other company or copyrighted thing mentioned.**

**Edit 12-4-13: A special thanks to my grandpa, who let me know that I had written "seen" instead of "scene." It's fixed now. :)**

**-Vroche**

* * *

"'Ferre, 'FERRE! Watch out!" A tall, blonde, curly-haired man managed to narrowly miss a collision with his best friend as he carefully- and quite quickly -carried their iconic Thanksgiving centerpiece to the table.

"Well, Enjolras, if you weren't in such a hurry with the damn turkey and didn't refuse to keep the doors open, maybe we wouldn't be having this problem!" Combeferre replied steadily. With delicate and ever so slight movements, he managed to slide the tangy, mashed sweet potatoes he was carrying back into their glass tray.

A small grunt was his friend's only reply. Enjolras's pale face showed a look of absolute concentration as he carefully set their golden-brown turkey on the table. As soon as the shiny silver platter was situated on the maroon tablecloth ("It looks like my nanny's curtains!"), he wiped the sweat from his brow and hurried back to the sliding glass door. Pushing it open, he shivered a bit as the harsh and freezing late autumn wind blasted his face. "'Ferre, the doors are shut for a very logical reason- to keep us warm. We could catch hypothermia or something, and it would cool the turkey off."

Combeferre just shook his head and continued sprinkling mini marshmallows on the mashed sweet potatoes. "You're beginning to sound like Joly," was his only response. The doors-open debate had been going on all day, and although it seemed silly, Enjolras was firmly set on keeping the cold out. And everyone knew not to argue with Enjolras when he was set on something.

Enjolras smiled faintly and shut the doors again. Turning back to the long table that took up the whole dining room area and a good part of the walkway, he strolled back to the kitchen. Feuilly was helping with the feast preparations as well. The complex origami decorations on the table, the tablecloth and place cards, and the homemade whipped cream were all courtesy of him. Currently, he was fiddling with the dishwasher settings.

The blonde just stood there for a while, watching Feuilly. Finally, the fan maker straightened up and turned to face Enjolras. "Yes?"

"Er...what were you doing?"

Feuilly's freckled face flushed a bright red. "Nothing. Just...making sure the settings are right so we can...clean the dishes between dinner and dessert."

That didn't sound entirely truthful to Enjolras, but he let it slide because, after all, there is a limited number of things you can do with a dishwasher. "If you say so."

It was Enjolras and Combeferre who had originally been hosting Les Amis's annual Thanksgiving feast, but Feuilly's apartment heater had stopped working the day before they received the cold front that was currently...blessing them. The redheaded fan maker was making himself more than useful as they prepared for the evening ahead.

"Gobble," came Feuilly's reply as he pulled down the clear, fancy crystal glasses from the cupboard.

Enjolras rolled his eyes at Feuilly's turkey reference. All day, Combeferre and Feuilly had been joking about his slight...obsession of the turkey he had been tending to since nine in the morning. Of course, he had denied any claims of obsession- it was simply Enjolras's first time smoking a Thanksgiving turkey in their fairly new smoker, and he didn't want anything to go wrong.

* * *

A few hours later, their ancient table was practically groaning with the weight of all the food. Enjolras's prize turkey was resting on its platter in the center, with apples ("Enjolras, it's not a pig, for Pete's sake! Apples don't go in the mouth...or anything that resembles one!") and sliced lemons surrounding it.

Combeferre had been kind enough to make three whole dishes of mashed sweet potatoes, which the trio had had _way_ to much fun mashing, all laden with half-melted marshmallows. He'd also fried green beans and salted them.

Feuilly's homemade whipped cream was missing from the table at the moment, because everyone knew what would happen if certain people got into the legendary concoction too early.

The rest of the evening's dishes were being delivered by the remainder of their group of friends.

Hence the sudden doorbell.

"Enjolras, why on earth do you have a song as your doorbell?" asked Feuilly for the umpteenth time as the chorus from "Do You Want A Revolution" by Kirk Franklin played loudly throughout the small house.

"Believe me, I ask myself that every day," added Combeferre as he put away his baking mit and hurried to the door.

Enjolras just smiled. One day his friends would understand why it was his favorite. Today, however, was not that day.

"On three," he commanded, holding up his hand for emphasis. "One-" he counted on his fingers as he spoke, "-two, THREE!"

He twisted the handle on the unlocked door and all three chorused "Happy Thanksgiving!" to their guests.

Enjolras lightly jumped from foot to foot as the cold air entered the threshold, brought to them by none other than Bahorel, Marius, and Éponine.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Charlie Brown to jump out? By all means, c'mon in!" Combeferre said, grinning at the arrivals.

"Merry turkey day!" Bahorel shouted as he hung his coat, hat and gloves on their old-fashioned coat rack. Marius and Éponine weren't able to preform such a task due to the steaming, tin foil-covered dishes they were carrying.

"Ooh, what's inside?" Feuilly asked, taking Marius's dish from his mitten-clad hands (Marius was the only one who preferred mittens to gloves) and nearly skipping with it to the table, despite Combeferre's shouts of "Be careful!"

"You'll have to wait and see," Marius replied, grinning.

"Monsieurs, thank you so much for inviting me," Éponine's face was lit in a shy smile as she handed her dish to Enjolras.

"It's no trouble," Enjolras smiled back and then left to take her dish to the table as well.

Bahorel, Éponine, Marius, and Combeferre stood awkwardly in the foyer for a moment, and then Bahorel ran for the fridge, shouting "Where'd you put the beer?"

"Mind where you're going, will ya?" Feuilly said, slightly irritated after Bahorel nearly bowled him over during his beer rush. "And I don't think Enjolras and 'Ferre keep any, the killjoys. I believe you'll have to wait until Grantaire arrives."

"Wine?"

"I don't think so, sorry."

Shutting the fridge door, with an cool thump, Bahorel muttered something under his breath and instead headed for the living room, where Éponine and Marius were already taking advantage of the appetizers.

Standing off to the side, Enjolras and Combeferre surveyed the whole scene proudly. The table, almost looked like something from a magazine, and Éponine was obviously enjoying the baguettes and Brie they had set out.

* * *

Slowly, the rest of the group trickled in and everyone was present by five o'clock. Jehan and Courfeyrac had arrived with Gavroche, who was apparently a surprise appearance for Éponine.

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta had arrived only a few minutes after, all carrying coupons for Black Friday shopping the following day. Joly, for one, had been open about the dish he had brought- cranberry relish.

Grantaire and Cosette, of all people, had arrived last. Apparently Grantaire and Courfeyrac were planning something. Grantaire had picked up Cosette along the way ("And it was't a picnic, convincing her father,") as a surprise for Marius, which was rather out of character for the drunkard. Grantaire had also brought a few cases of beer, much to the delight of Bahorel and Courfeyrac.

After two large plates of baguettes and Brie had been consumed, Enjolras pulled out a megaphone.

Yes, a megaphone. With red-and-white stripes.

"Attention, ladies and gentlemen! Please do make your way to the table."

The slightly crackly, deafening voice made all conversation slide to an abrupt halt as everyone turned to stare.

"What?" Enjolras looked to Combeferre questioningly.

"Nothing," Combeferre replied, snorting a bit. "Dinner, anyone?"

"Yeah!" shouted Courfeyrac and Gavroche as they raced to the table, tripping Bossuet in the process.

Feuilly had been in charge of place cards, and so the seating arrangement was as follows: Enjolras sat at the head of the table, and, going clockwise, he was followed by Combeferre, Gavroche, Jehan, Courfeyrac, Cosette, Marius, Bahorel, Feuilly, Bossuet, Musichetta, Joly, Éponine, and then Grantaire ended up on Enjolras's other side.

"Who wants to say the blessing?" Combeferre asked, smiling at everyone.

"Well, at our apartment, the person with the closest upcoming birthday does the honors," Bossuet announced.

"That sounds reasonable," Combeferre agreed. "Marius is up, isn't he?"

"Nope," the freckled lawyer-to-be countered. "It's Vroche- he's December third and I'm January sixth."

"Forgive me, then," Combeferre replied. "Gavroche?"

A mischievous grin etched itself across the young boy's face. "Can I sing one from camp?"

"Sure," Combeferre shrugged.

"Oh, God no," Éponine grumbled, only half teasing. "Let's get it over with."

This earned her a stare from Courfeyrac, but no one had anything else to add, and so Gavroche begun, to the tune of the Superman theme song, complete with Superman poses.

"Thank you God, for giving us food!  
Thank you God, for giving us food!

For the friends that we eat,  
And the food that we meet!

Thank you God, for giving us food!  
Amen!"

Everyone said "Amen" together, and then a moment of awkward silence went by.

"Gavroche," Joly whispered from across the table, "it's 'for the friends that we _meet_ and the food that we _eat._ You want to eat your friends?" He smiled teasingly.

"Oh, whoops. Sorry," the little boy said, clearly embarrassed. Courfeyrac ruffled his hair and loudly announced, "Let the opposite of dieting begin!"

And so it did! As the tin foil lids were lifted, it was revealed that Bahorel had brought green been casserole. Marius had brought a huge bowl of stuffing, and Jehan had brought ambrosia. Gavroche and Courfeyrac had made a large boat of gravy together. Grantaire had brought a cranberry-cherry sauce type thing, and Éponine had been kind enough to bring enough buttery corn on the cob for everyone. Musichetta and Bossuet had brought traditional mashed potatoes with a twist- bacon!

Once everyone had filled their plates and cups (everyone except for Gavroche was having some of Grantaire's beer) and begun eating, Feuilly pushed his own chair back and stood up. "Who here like potatoes?"

The majority of those seated at the table, showed their agreement, some (such as Gavroche, Éponine, and Jehan) through a mouthful of food.

Feuilly grinned in an almost evil manner and made his way to the dishwasher. The cabinets blocked everyone's curious stares, but after a few moments of him hunched over, he appeared at the entrance to the dining room with a plate of potatoes in his hands.

"Are those...potatoes?" Jehan asked.

Feuilly nodded, obviously quite proud of himself.

"And you cooked them in...the dishwasher?"

Feuilly nodded again, this time blushing slightly.

"I'm too sober for this," Grantaire muttered, taking a large sip from his glass. "Are you telling me you cooked _potatoes _in the _dishwasher_?"

"Yep," Feuilly answered, setting the dish down in the only empty spot on the table. "Seasoned and everything. I didn't cook them with soap, though. I managed to find a recipe online. Turns out you could cook a whole turkey in there if you wanted." Enjolras paled at the thought.

Bossuet bravely reached out and took a few to his plate, where he proceeded to eat them. Everyone watched his expression curiously. Managing to keep his face emotionless, Bossuet finished chewing, swallowed, and then took some more, much to Feuilly's delight.

"What?" he asked, after finishing his second forkful. "They're good!"

Gavroche was next to try the dishwasher-cooked potatoes, and his opinion was the same as Bossuet's. "Fey dochnt tost enchy dffrunt," he announced through a mouthful of them. Swallowing, he added, "Except for the fact that they're really yummy."

"Glad you guys like them," beamed Feuilly, helping himself to some of his potatoes.

The normalness resumed quickly after that, the conversation and fork clinking increasing in volume.

"Wow, can't believe Feuilly managed to keep that from you and I all day, huh?" Combeferre asked Enjolras, laughing a bit. "Using a dishwasher to cook. Who would've seen that coming?"

Enjolras smiled. "I know! Wonder who thought that up," he addressed Combeferre before turning to Grantaire on his other side.

"Hey R, do you think it's too dry?"

Grantaire at first seemed surprised that Enjolras was even speaking to him, but he recovered after a few seconds, in time to reply "What's dry?"

"The turkey," Enjolras gestured to the bird. "I smoked it, and a few of the reviews on the recipe thing I was using said that it turned out with not enough moisture. You know what I mean?"

Grantaire nodded. "Well, Apollo, I'm honored you ask my opinion. I may be a chef but I'm not a professional food critic..." he trailed off as he took a bite of the turkey on his plate. "Nah, I don't think it's too dry. Rather perfect, in fact."

"And you're not just saying that?" Enjolras was wary of bias from the drunkard who usually worshiped him. (And sure, he could have asked someone else, but he didn't like yelling across the table, and besides, he didn't want Grantaire to feel left out.)

"That's my honest opinion," Grantaire said seriously.

Enjolras smiled a bit. "Well then, thank you, and I'm glad you like it." He got no reply except for a nod of acknowledgement from Grantaire, whose mouth was full of food.

Musichetta and Cosette were talking about the latest Covergirl makeup, more specifically, the recent line that was inspired by the new Hunger Games movie, Catching Fire. "I've heard that Target's having a huge sale on it tomorrow," Musichetta said excitedly.

Cosette nodded. "I've never been Black Friday shopping before. I really want to go, but I doubt my father will let me. What's it like?"

Musichetta grinned coyly. "Maybe the boys and I will have to kidnap you and take you or something. It's great fun, although super crowded. Some stores have great deals, some not-so great. I've heard that some people camp overnight in order to be the first into the store!"

"Wow," Cosette laughed. "Desperate much?"

Combeferre and Joly were having a long-distance conversation about the holiday break homework from their pre-med teacher.

Gavroche was involved in a secret, traditional sibling under-the -table foot war with Éponine. Both were pretending to be completely unoccupied, devouring food and drink, except for the occasional grunt of pain or concentration.

Courfeyrac and Jehan were barely eating anything on their plates. Instead, they'd stop after every bite or so and gaze into each other's eyes. Seeing as he spent half his free time over at Courfeyrac's, Gavroche was so used to this, he completely ignored them.

Bahorel, however, was a different story. After complaining about why he couldn't sit next to Grantaire ("For very good reasons that you should be aware of by now," Feuilly had said), he had turned his attention to eating and making fun of Jehan and Courfeyrac.

"Get a room, you guys, you're worse than Marius and Cosette," he barked, referring to Jehan and Courfeyrac's obvious display of affection. Éponine blushed, and Grantaire laughed along with Courfeyrac and Grantaire.

Feuilly and Marius soon engaged Bahorel in a conversation about the newest smartphone from the top technology company, Apple.

The feast was going even better than Enjolras, Combeferre, and Feuilly could have dreamed of planning. No "bar fights" had broken out, the girls weren't bickering over something ridiculous or Marius-related, and everyone looked happy.

As the conversation trickled to a minimum and plates shone emptily (for the most part), Jehan stood up, slightly tipsy, and announced "I believe that Enj, 'Ferre, Feuilly, and R have some dessert preparations to do in the kitchen so we'd better scoot."

A chorus of whoops drowned out Enjolras's feeble "Don't call me Enj" as the mostly drunk Amis eagarly ran and dumped their plates in the sink before crashing out the screen door into the backyard.

* * *

"Hey Courfeyrac, catch!" shouted Bahorel as he swung a well-muscled arm and lobbed a worn, supple brown-leathered-with-dirty-laces football at the man in question.

"Woah, bro!" Courfeyrac yelled back as he jumped and fumbled to catch the football and failed.

"It's freezing out here!" yelled Joly, who was shivering in his pea coat. "We shouldn't stay out for too long, unless you all want to catch hypothermia."

"If you move, it's not so cold!" Jehan shouted back, jumping up and down to stay warm.

Gavroche soon started a half tackling, half tickling fight with Éponine, Joly and Jehan, which resulted in everyone else joining in.

The following conversation was probably heard throughout the neighborhood.

"Ahahaha, Jehan, stop, please!"

"Never!"

"G'roff!"

"Not til you say uncle!"

"UNCLE!"

"Hey, no fair, you promised!"

"Never trust a poet!"

At this point, Courfeyrac intervined in the Gavroche/Jehan struggle and lifted his boyfriend off the tween.

"Yay for the Courfeyrac!"

Éponine then decided to host an interesting game of baseball.

"Who wants to play baseball with tennis rackets?"

"ME! ME ME ME!"

"I do!"

"Me too!"

"Ooooookay! Batters up!"

"Sttttttrike one!"

"What, no, I hit that one!"

"No bunting!"

"No bunting, my ass."

"LANGUAGE!"

"Uh-huh, apologies. Pitch already!"

"Whoo! Home run, here I come!"

"'Chetta, over here!"

"No, not you, the tennis ball!"

"Ohh, sure!"

"Aaand he's safe at second. Next batter?"

"Come at me, bro!"

"A fastball? Piece of cake- ahh! I'M OFF!"

"To see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz!"

"We hear he is a whiz of a wiz, if ever a wiz there was! If ever, oh ever a wiz there was, the wizard of Oz is one because-"

"-Because, because, because, because, because-"

"-Because of all the wonderful things he does."

"We're off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz!"

"I hate you all- OH, nevermind, HOME RUN!"

"Darn!"

"And he steps up the the plate, tennis racket in hand and a steely glint in his eyes as baseball star Courfeyrac l'Courfeyrac readies himself for the pitch."

"That's not even proper French, dummy."

"I know, that's the point. SHE'S READY, SHE AIMS, AND SHE FIRES!"

"Ahaha, that was another easy one. VROOM VROOM goes the Courf!"

"The ball, Lesgle, THE BALL! OVER HERE!"

"Ah, shucks, cramp cramp cramp. Shouldn't be running after so much turkey. Show mercy, 'Ponine!"

"YER OUT!"

And so it went for about twenty minutes before a frightened-looking Feuilly called them in for dessert.

* * *

"Mmmph, guys, this is really good!" exclaimed Joly as he devoured his slices of blueberry cobbler (from the grocery store, bought by Feuilly), apple pie (baked by Enjolras and Combeferre yesterday), and pumpkin pie (homemade by Grantaire).

Everyone was safely inside and at their previous seats at the long table. Despite Bossuet's black eye, everyone was safe, if not worn out.

"Thanks!" replied all three of the bakers.

"Thank the grocery store, not me," laughed Feuilly.

"But wait! There's more!" cried Grantaire, as if suddenly realizing something. "We have COOL WHIP! And Feuilly's whipped cream. In the spray canister for once."

Gavroche's eyes lit up as soon as the words "cool whip" left Grantaire's mouth. "I call it first!"

Grantaire nodded and tossed the sealed plastic bowl of Cool Whip over to the younger boy, who immediately tore off the plastic wrapping, ripped off the top, and dug his spoon into the cold, creamy, fluffy white whipped heaven. When he passed the bowl to the man next to him, Jehan, only about 60% of the Cool Whip was left.

Combeferre started passing around Feuilly's fresh whipping cream. Everyone got almost equal, reasonable portions...until it landed in the hands of Courfeyrac and Gavroche.

A sinister grin sketched itself across Courfeyrac's face as he tossed the bottle from hand to hand before placing a finger on the white nozzle and pushing. Hard. "Whoooo hoo!"

"Courfeyrac, you're going to get yourself sick!" exclaimed Cosette with wide eyes as she watched Courfeyrac take evident delight in spraying the whipepd cream all over his plate.

"Oh, God," murmured Joly, covering his face with his hands.

Courfeyrac's pie, all three large pieces of it, were concealed under a thick layer of whipped cream and some Cool Whip. His plate basically looked like a huge snowy mountain of deliciousness.

After he was done with it, Gavroche's plate looked almost identical to Courfeyrac's, except for the fact that his snowy mountain consisted of more Cool Whip (his favorite food ever) than whipped cream.

The whipped cream bottle sputtered as Enjolras sprayed the last of it onto his slices of pie.

Gavroche and Courfeyrac were both immensely enjoying their pie and its accessories. Bahorel, after polishing off his pie and another glass of beer, walked over to Courfeyrac and whispered something in his ear.

"Ooh, good idea!"

Courfeyrac then proceeded to faceplant on his plate. When he lifted it up, his face- even his thick and abundant black curls -was covered with white. Only his eyes were visible under the Cool Whip and whipped cream mixture. He proceeded to get out of his chair and walk behind Gavroche's chair to Jehan's, where, smiling, he grabbed the poet's hand, pulled him up, and kissed him hard.

Gavroche giggling broke the two apart. About half of Courfeyrac's sugary white face topping had ended up on Jehan's face, and both were smiling and laughing.

"That was so sweet, no pun intended," commented Musichetta.

"I see what you did there," said Joly. "Perhaps you want some too?"

Before the night was over, everyone was laughing and even Enjolras's face was covered in whipped cream and a smile.


End file.
